Hehe, I pulled a line from one of my favorite youtube videos. I wonder if anyone will notice it...

The apartment, after that night, forever had this empty, quiet atmosphere. For some reason, as I laid in my own bed the next morning, I had a feeling things would never be the same. It was just a gut feeling, and at the time, I didn't know how real it was.

I slept in, anyway, and when I decided that the sun had been up too long for any person to stay in bed, I wrapped myself in blankets and padded into the kitchen. The kettle was on and I saw Meggie's bent over form at the table. I plopped down at the table and watched her. She was holding up different papers and scanning them with a creased brow. Uninterested, I moved over to the stove and started to cook some eggs. As I was trying to push away thoughts of Henry and focus solely on perfecting my omelet, Meggie suddenly said, "I'm going vaudeville, Charlotte."

I dropped the spatula and turned around. "Vaudeville? As in raunchy, dirty, a pathetic attempt at a production vaudeville?"

She didn't say anything but set the papers down and straightened them into a nice stack. I came to sit down next to her.

"It isn't that bad yet, is it Meggie?" I asked quietly. Meggie put an elbow on the table and rested her forehead in her hand. She still didn't say anything and my omelet was burning. I went back to the stove, new thoughts swirling in my head.

"I'm going to the graveyard today," I announced, flipping over my eggs. Maybe Meggie wasn't serious. Maybe she was just sad about Henry dying. Yeah, that was it.

She mumbled some sort of agreement and then exited the room. I frowned as I sat down at the table with my omelet. Poor Meggie. This had to be hard on her. Henry and her had had the best marriage that I've ever known. I think they even courted two years before they actually got married. Then I came along somehow and I became their only child. Meggie found out she couldn't have children. I think that's the only time I remember Meggie being depressed. Meggie's always been kind of steady and calm, and despite the stressful times, that's why she's such a good director.

So anyway, I was going on yet another adventure today. Somehow, I was going to get to the graveyard at Trinity Church. How? Well, I had no idea. But I was sure that Angie would know. I wanted to get to know her better and for some odd, odd reason, I really wanted to hit the streets again. I missed that freedom that I had experienced so briefly.

I finished eating, got dressed quickly, tied up my boots, and set off. If Angie hadn't of lived on the same street that the bookstore was on, I probably wouldn't of known where to go. But I did, and found her workplace in a decent amount of time. I entered the shop and was relieved to see that the old woman wasn't there, and Angie in her place. She looked up from shuffling receipts as the door squeaked open at my entrance.

"Charlotte!" she cried with a smile.

"Hey Angie," I said, returning her smile as I came up to lean against the counter, "I'm back."

"No one's pursuing you this time, right?" she asked with a smirk.

"How'd you know?" I asked, my mouth agape. She shrugged and put the receipts in a small box.

"I figured as much."

So, she was smart too. "I need your help," I said before she could ask anymore questions.

"Oh really?" she asked with a raised brow, "With what?"

"I need to get to Trinity Church."

She nodded. "My break's in about an hour. Can you wait that long?"

I nibbled on my lower lip. An hour? "Is there anything I can help you with? I wouldn't know what to do with an hour," I said. Actually I did. I would go down to the bookstore. But I didn't want to do that. Meggie had hired a new manager and I didn't want to see what was happening down there.

"Well sure! Remember all those packages?" she asked, "They're full of new fabrics that needs to be shelved. Would you mind?"

I shook my head. "Would love to."

I dragged out a couple of the packages into the main room and started ripping them open.

"So, are you going to tell me?" she asked as I pulled out different colors of fabrics.

"Tell you what?"

"About what happened two weeks ago!"

Geeze, two weeks ago... So much had happened since then!

"I dunno," I said, "You might think the less of me."

"Nonsense!" she cried, "Come on! Tell me at least who ran in here and grabbed you. He was cute, by the way."

I laughed and shook my head. "That's what everyone says, but I can't see it."

"Psh," she said, "it's only 'cause your thirteen. Wait till you're my age."

I glared at her. "That was Francis. The past two weeks, I've been in the Refuge with him. We're criminals."

She looked at me disbelieving. "Now, really, what's the true story?"

"That is the true story! Who do you think we were running from?"

She shook her head. "What'd you do?"

I explained the whole story, about when I met Francis at the theater, meeting the newsies, and my whole time in the Refuge. When I was done, she was staring at me.

"Wow," she breathed, "So you just got out of the Refuge yesterday?"

I nodded, "Yeah. I was actually kinda sad to leave. I made friends and got to know Francis a whole lot better."

"So wait, why do you want to go to Trinity Church? To repent of your sins?" Angie asked.

I looked down at the scarlet red fabric in my hands. I hadn't told her about Henry yet and I didn't want to talk about it. Luckily the door squeaked open just then and in came a customer looking for creamy purple silk. I shelved some more fabric, and by the time Angie was finished, the hour was up and we were able to leave.

It was getting near noon when we set out in search of the church. Angie said she was pretty sure she where it was and it wouldn't take more than half an hour to get there. However, I ended up walking more than I would of liked and a blister was forming on my right heel from my boot.

"Angie, are we almost there?" I asked after forty-five minutes had passed. She was peering down roads and alleys and pausing for a minute or so at each fork.

"Well, to be honest, I don't really know," she said with a small giggle. She thought it was funny! I groaned.

"I thought you said you knew!"

"I did! I really did! But I think I took a wrong turn when we saw that really cute guy back-"

"Angie!" I cried. She giggled again and blushed.

"Sorry, terribly sorry."

I think I almost had Angie figured out. a) she was boy-crazy and b) she was directionally challenged. Then I saw at cute little restaurant across the street us and was suddenly aware of how hungry I was.

"Well," I sighed, "Let's get something to eat. I'm starved."

"Something to eat? You got money?" she asked with a frown. I nodded.

"Yeah, Meggie knew I would be gone for awhile so she gave me some cash. I can buy for ya, don't worry," I said and crossed the street.

"Tibby's?" she asked, looking at the sign, "I've never been here before. 'Course, I don't usually eat out."

"Me neither. But Francis's talked about it once," I said, opening the door for her. He didn't say much, except that he ate there once a week or more with his friends and they had pretty good food. The place was dead when we walked in. The waiters were hanging out around the counter and talking with each other. The fans were on, sending an annoying buzz throughout the room. Angie and I took a seat at a small table off to the side after we had browsed the menu in the chalk. The waitress, a tall nice looking lady, padded over to take our order.

"I would hurry and eat, girls," she said while scribbling down what we had dictated.

"Why?" I asked, messing with the salt shaker.

"'Cause those boys are comin' and they flirt like there's no tomorrow," she said with an impish smile as she whisked away,

Angie frowned at me. "What boys?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. But let's ask that lady before we leave if she can give us directions."

She blushed and nodded. Our food was cooked fairly quickly, and we were munching away on hamburgers and fries, good ol' American cuisine, when the storm hit us. I say storm because it was like an earthquake had shook the building when all those boys came romping through the door. Angie and I froze as we watched them liter themselves across the dining room. Suddenly, we wanted to either run out of the building or hide under a rock and hope no one noticed us. Instead, we formed a shield with the tattered menus and hid our faces behind it.

"We need a plan of escape," I said in mock-seriousness. Angie giggled and nodded. The noise the boys were creating was deafening.

"Shall we crawl under the tables?" Angie asked, peaking around the shield, "Some of them are really cute though!"

I shook my head, "I say we run for it. They wouldn't chase us."

"Or would they?" Angie asked with a grin. I rolled my eyes. "Awuh come on, Charlotte! You underestimate your own beauty."

"Sure, sure," I said sarcastically, "Come on, let's go. Our skirts are giving us away."

"Hello, ladies," purred a male voice above us. Too late. Angie and I glanced up simultaneously and saw a boy looking down over our shield with a smirk and cigar in his mouth. We quickly disassembled the menus, blushing.

"S'everything alright? We was just wondering 'cause-"

"Awuh shuddup, Race!" someone said from behind and we giggled as the boy was jerked away from us by the collar. In his place stepped another boy with an eye-patch. An eye-patch!

"Sorry, ladies. Racetrack don't have no respect for privacy and- oh hey, wait just a minute! I know you!" he said excitedly, looking at me. Angie glanced over at me with a raised brow. I shrank. Gah, I should of known they were the newsies.

Racetrack stumbled back up to the his friend's side. "Oh yeah! You're the gal that Cowboy brought home one night!"

I blushed furiously and looked down.

"Charlotte. Her name's Charlotte. And I'm Angie," she said, standing and holding out a hand. Thank God for Angie. I forced myself to stand with her and exchange names with the boys.

"Dis is Racetrack and I'm Kid Blink," he said with a grin, shaking both of our hands.

"You wouldn't happen to know where Cowboy is, do ya?" Racetrack asked. I nodded.

"The Refuge."

They both laughed and then Racetrack turned around to face the rest of the boys.

"Hey, fellas, Cowboy's back in da Refuge! I gots a dollar that says he'll be out in two weeks"

My mouth dropped open as I heard more offers for a month or even just another day. As this continued, Kid Blink invited us to sit with him. I would of said no, but Angie beat me to it and agreed. I glared over at her when he wasn't looking. She probably thought he was cute. Which he was.

We transferred our plates to the big long table that they had made and the boys instantly welcomed us into their group with introductions and attempts at flirting that were just all together hilarious. Angie felt right at home while I dedicated my attention to my food. I listened with half an ear to their conversation, smirking at their jokes occasionally while Angie almost fell off her chair laughing. Poor girl, I thought to myself, she'll have a beau by the end of the meal.

"You don't like pickles?" someone said to my left. I froze, my hand holding the disgusting pickle midair. I glanced over and saw a boy I was sure they called Dutchy.

"Yes, I do," I said and then dropped the pickle on a napkin. He laughed and then scooped up the pickle and ate it. I crinkled my nose and went back to my hamburger.

"So, what," he said while chewing, "Are you Cowboy's girl or not?"

I glared at him. "Why, did he say I was?"

"I wouldn't be asking if he did."

"No," I said, "I'm not. Just friends."

He nodded and chewed on the end of a straw thoughtfully. "How old are you anyway?" he asked.

"Almost fourteen," came the automatic answer. It was just two more weeks away, so I felt I had a right to say 'almost' without sounding completely immature. I frowned heavily. Henry wouldn't see my fourteenth birthday...and we had had so many plans.

"And so then he says, 'Dat's what I call a sticky situation!'," someone said before the entire room erupted with laughter, causing me to jump and look up quickly. Angie really did fall off her chair and I grabbed my hamburger as two of the newsies stumbled towards me, blinded in their laughter. I scooted out of the way just as they crashed into the table, causing an even louder resound of laughter.

"Geeze, Mush! You spilled coke all over me!" Dutchy yelled while slapping the laughing newsie upside the head. He grabbed twenty napkins and start dabbing his pants.

"S-s-sor- sorry!" the offender managed to squeeze out between spasms of laughter, "Chya hear that, Dutchy? Sitcky...stick- sticky situation!"

Mush fell back on his friend's arm, slapping him repeatedly on the shoulder while his face was beginning to look more and more like a cherry.

"Get it?" he cried as Dutchy shoved him away.

I rolled my eyes and went to lean against a wall, a far distance away from any of the slap-happy newsies. Dutchy followed me, muttering under his breath and dabbing at his pants.

"When do you guys leave?" I asked while observing Angie who was trying to calmly wipe up the salt she had spilled, but kept randomly bursting into laughter.

"Probably in another few minutes. We like to catch people walking back to work after their lunch break."

I nodded while chewing.

"So how do you know Angie?" he asked, his eyes flickering over to her.

"Uhm, I really don't. We just met on the street one day," I answered, "She's helping me find Trinity Church... but we kind of got lost."

He laughed. "It's just a couple of streets away from here."

I stared at him. "Really? Then we should get going. Or at least I should. I don't think Angie would wanna leave."

"Want me to lead you?"

"Uhm," I chewed on my lower lip, "I wouldn't know how to get back to my place without her. But thanks."

He shrugged. "No problem."

I wandered over to her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Angie, the church is a few streets from here. Wanna go?" She looked up from her conversation with Kid Blink and smiled.

"Shoah," she said, "he ate my burger anyway."

I rolled my eyes as she playfully glared at him. Of course, he was blushing furiously and looked awful smitten. I didn't blame him, Angie was a head-turner. We said good-bye to everyone, but before we left, they made us promise to come back and dine with them again. I wondered if Francis would be with us then.

The moment we stepped out onto the sidewalk, Angie said, "Oh, you better come back with me, Charlotte!"

"Why?" I whined.

"Because! I think Skittery likes you!" she said excitedly.

"Who?"

"Plus they're a fun lot! I about died when Pie-Eater told us that joke!"

"Whose Pie-Eater and whose Skittery?" I demanded. I know, I'm not very interested in boys, unlike Angie whose all about the who-likes-who game, but it's always flattering to find out someone thinks you're pretty or attractive. I was just curious.

"Skittery was the one flippin' around cards with another kid at a table near the front of the restaurant. You didn't see him?"

I shook my head.

"Bah, you were probably too busy trying to become one with the wall," Angie said with a laugh, "Well anyway, I saw. He kept glancing over at you."

"Maybe he thought I was strange."

"Maybe."

"What about Dutchy? He actually talked to me," I protested. Angie shrugged.

"He just wanted your hamburger."

I burst out laughing. "He probably did! He kept eying it and even had the nerve to steal my pickles!"

"He probably didn't sell enough," Angie said, laughing with me, "Poor boy."

"So is Skittery cute?"

"Well sure! Not as cute as Kid Blink, but-"

I shoved her with my hip. She giggled as she stumbled a little to the left.

"Kid Blink, hah! He only has one eye!" I said.

"It's a very cute eye."

"He's probably a vicious pirate."

"I love pirates."

"You don't know anything about pirates!"

"I know that they have one eye."

"Angie- not all- argh! I give up!" I huffed. We crossed another street, the church in sight.

"Do you want me to go in with you?" Angie asked.

"I'm not going in," I sighed, my cheerful mood disappearing as I saw the graveyard. Angie followed my gaze and started.

"Who died?" she asked instantly, her pretty blue eyes widening with alarm and concern. I shrugged her hand off my arm and walked through the wrought iron gate.

She followed me silently. I began looking for a fresh mound. Death was such a beautifully sad concept. It was a concept that I loved to pour my heart into when writing about it. I always cried when turning the pages of a chapter dealing with death. I felt such pity and love for the person who had lost their loved one that it was like I was stepping in their shoes and losing that loved one myself. So I guess I could say that since I've really experienced so many deaths I should have been prepared for this one. I wasn't.

There it was, the pile of dirt nearly choking any view of the marker. But it was there. Henry Arthur Davidson, 1860 – 1898. I knelt down besides it. I didn't have any flowers. I didn't want to talk to him. I knew he couldn't here me. Or at least I didn't think so. Besides, Angie was there.

"He was a good man, my father," I said quietly to Angie who was besides me. She gasped softly.

"Oh, Char, I'm so sorry!" she said, now kneeling also with one arm around me.

"He got really sick. I was in the Refuge when he died," I laughed bitterly, "Can you believe that Meggie would have the funeral without me?"

She shook her head.

"But it was alright. Meggie told me and Francis let me cry on him. I guess I wouldn't really wanted to go a funeral for my father anyway. Poor Meggie though. She needed me there. I just know she did," I said. Angie rubbed my shoulder comfortingly. We sat a ten minutes in silence, though it seemed like ten seconds the way my thoughts were racing. I was wondering if Meggie was really going to do vaudeville. I knew I wouldn't bear it. I hated vaudeville with a passion. I was also wondering what Francis had up his sleeve for Monday. Of course I wouldn't help him. I wasn't that dense. I would just end up in the Refuge once again. But I was looking forward to seeing Queen and a few other kids who I had gotten to know fairly well. Oh, and the governor of course! My mind wandered as I imagined what would happen if there was an assassination. But who would want to assassinate Teddy Roosevelt?

Finally, I got to my feet and pulled Angie up with me. "Let's head back," I said, "Isn't your break over anyway?"

Her eyes widened again. "Oh no, it is! How long have we been gone?" she cried.

"More than an hour, my friend," I said. We started racing out of the graveyard and down the road.

"I'm gonna get fired, Charlotte!" she said while running besides me, "They got this big waiting list for employees! They'll have no mercy, I'm sure of it!"

"Don't worry," I answered, "They like your work, don't they?"

"Sure! As much as the next person!"

Sad to say, though we ran and panted as hard as we could, when we came to Angie's shop the old lady was behind the counter and there was already a new girl working in the back.

"Whadda ya mean, Rachel?! I'm only a half-an-hour late!" Angie cried from the other side of the counter. I waited by the door.

"I told ya the terms before I hired you, Angie. Marge has been waiting for this job for a month," said the old woman. It did seem unfair. Maybe there was no heart behind all that fat and flub. I grinned to myself at the thought. The two battled it out for another five minutes, but in the end, Angie was walking out of the shop with me, her head hung low.

"Do you want to come back to my place for the evening?" I asked, "I could show you the theater and you can meet Meggie."

Angie sighed. "I suppose. Saves me coming home from what would be work and explaining it all to my father."

"Does your father work?" I asked.

She nodded. "But he doesn't get paid much. I let Mom stay home with the kids and I work. Or, well, used to. Bah, I better find a new job soon or else I'll be the one babysitting for the rest of my life." She groaned.

"What? You don't like kids?"

"No! And I really hate babysitting. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love my siblings, but I don't want to have to deal with full-time child care before I'm married."

We walked to the theater slowly, both us in equally somber moods. We were tramping along, when suddenly Angie stopped and stared at a building across the street.

"Hey, Charlotte, does that sign say the 'Newsboys Lodging House'?" she asked. I squinted.

"Yeah, it does."

"Maybe that's where Kid Blink and his gang live."

"Maybe."

We trudged on. Soon we came to the theater. I gave Angie a quick tour, showing her where my box was and telling a little bit about the history of the theater. She wanted to see backstage, even though I warned her it was a disaster and not fit for viewing. How little fit for viewing I did not know until we stepped through the curtain. Oh, it was clean. Sparkling clean actually. That surprised me, but not as much as what was going on backstage. Meggie was there. She was laying on a couch in a creamy purple silk dress, face caked in make-up, and posing like a goddess for a painter who stood making quick strokes on his easel. I stared at the whole scene with an open-mouth. She had a sick, flirty look on her face that broke into a wide smile when we entered.

"Charlotte!" she cried, making a sign to the painter and coming to greet us, "I've been waiting for you all morning!"

She tried to hug me, but I pulled away as her feathers brushed against my face and I was doused in the sweet scent of some perfume.

"Meggie...what's going on?" I managed to say, my eyes drilling a hole in the painting.

"I'm going vaudeville! I told you this morning, dear!" she said with too much excitement for two sentences, "And whose this? A friend?"

I spun around. Angie was still there, smiling politely. My stomach sank. She probably thought my mother was some whore. But who could blame her, the way Meggie was dressed...

"This is Angie," I said, "Angie, this is Meg-"

"Medda! It's Medda, darling," Meggie said, suddenly slipping into an accent I couldn't put my finger on, "Medda the Swedish Meadowlark!" What the heck? Okay, that had to be the stupidest vaudeville name I had ever heard of.

Of course, Angie said, "Oh, how very pretty! Do you perform here?"

I nearly gagged. "Meggie," I said, stressing her name, "Can I talk to you in private? Sorry, Angie."

Meggie shook her head, her curls bouncing. "Sorry, dear, but this lovely artist has to finish painting." I glanced over and saw the artist blush. That was it. I ran through the curtains, down the aisle, up the stairs, and flung myself on the couch in my balcony. I started crying. Again. I couldn't believe myself. I tried to wipe away the tears, but they just kept coming. I wished Francis was there with me, or someone who could absorb my salt water and hold me like he did. I wished Henry was there. He had always held me and understood me when I cried, even if it was for the wrong reasons.

I couldn't believe Meggie. She couldn't be that depressed could she? We couldn't be that much in debt, could we? How could Meggie sell herself out like that? Why couldn't she at least hire vaudeville acts? Why did she have to do it? Why did she have to do everything?

By the time Angie found me, my tears were gone and my eyes dry. I was hugging my knees and staring down at the stage. Angie mimicked my position. We didn't say anything, but leaned on each other and found comfort in the silence.

Misery loves company.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews guys! We totally need to get more readers on here, 'cause at the moment, all the authors are playing the 'I scratch your back, you scratch mine' game. :D Also, for some shameless plugging, the NML is hosting a Holiday Fic contest and check out AdrenalineRush16's profile for details about Mush Week!

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